Perhaps
by Puss
Summary: Perhaps that is why, at dinner that night, he sat himself by Boromir. (Slash!)


So, my friend convinced me to write this lovely little story. I thought her mad...but, well, I was corrupted. 

So, Satu, here is your Boromir/Gimli.

**Perhaps**  
Rating: PG

It was not that Gimli was boring of the elf's company; no, he found great joy in their new friendship, and he certainly enjoyed the long traipses through the woods of Lothlorien, but their was something missing. Maybe it was the way the elf seemed so airy, as if his mind was not even connected to reality, or perhaps it was something in Gimli that desired a companion that was of a temperament like his own kin.

Perhaps that is why, at dinner that night, he sat himself by Boromir. The man was gruff in a way that Gimli liked; he had a strength and vitality that Gimli saw reflected in himself. They ate in silence, for, aside from the Merry and Pippin who would not dare pause to speak while there was food to be had, they were alone. The man cast hooded glances at Gimli throughout the dinner, as if confused by his presence, even though they had sat beside each other many a night while traveling, being two outcasts in the middle of a tight-knit group.

It was not until the two hobbits had tottered off to find comfort in their blankets that Boromir spoke. "Strange place, this forest." Gimli gave a small nod of agreement while brushing the crumbs from his beard. "It just doesn't seem right, as if it was something out of Faramir's stories."

"Faramir?" asked the Dwarf after an attempt to place the name. Boromir smiled, and the weight that had been carved into his face lightened a little. Gimli feel a twinge of surprise at the change; the man almost seemed to have been touched by a bit of magic when he heard the name.

"My little brother," he answered. "He always was one for great epic tales and fables about magic. I wish he was here instead of me; he would find much more pleasure in this place than I." Gimli gave a chuckle, finding himself becoming fonder of the man with every smile.

"I am glad, though, that he has not," said Gimli truthfully. "I need at least one person about that does have his head in the clouds." Boromir turned to look at the dwarf, and felt a grin creeping onto his face.

"Perhaps it is well then, my friend, that I am here. Who knows what madness you would get into otherwise? You might have ended up with your hair in pretty braids!" Gimli gave a snort, and Boromir, catching sight of his face, did something he had not done in what felt like eternity.

He laughed.

As the days wore on, Gimli found himself spending more and more time with the Gondorian man. The Fellowship seemed to be breaking up into pairs as they became more comfortable with their surroundings. You could never find Frodo without Sam clinging to his arm; Merry and Pippin were as inseparable as ever. Even Legolas, who seemed more excited to spend time with his woodland kin then any of the Fellowship, was starting to be hard to find without Aragorn following.

So it was that Boromir and Gimli spent their time avoiding the elves (an easy task, as none of the immortals seemed at all interested in them) and sharing stories of their lives. They often startled birds out of the trees (and occasionally a stray elf) with their boisterous laughter as they recalled some childhood folly or dangerous adventure. It made Gimli's heart glad to see to the cloudy exterior of the man give way to reveal a benevolent personality.

It was not until a particularly quiet night that Gimli realized how close the man and he had gotten. As was usual they were the only ones left in camp, but tonight they deviated from their normal swapping stories routine to play a game of checkers. Boromir had constructed a makeshift board from a large white handkerchief by marking squares on it with a piece of charcoal. At Boromir's command, Gimli was searching the camp for something to serve as playing pieces; eventually he gave up on finding any rocks in the smooth grass of their little clearing and settled for using small candies that the hobbits had wooed from some elvish cook.

"So….how do you play?" Boromir looked up at the dwarf, startled.

"You don't know how to play checkers?" he asked, astounded. The dwarf gave a curt nod. "What do they teach you in your mountains?"

"_Dwarven _games, my friend, not human silliness," Gimli remarked, though his tone was light and teasing. Boromir sat up straight in a gesture of mock seriousness.

"Silliness? My dwarven comrade, I would ask you not to make such vile insults against this beloved game of my kin's, lest I must rise to defend its honour!" Gimli snorted, a grin crossing his face.

"Rise then, man, for I stand by opinion till the end, and you shall not change it!" Boromir gave a bark of a laugh, and stood.

"Well then, I fear the end you speak of has come! On guard, dwarf!" Within seconds Gimli and Boromir were wrestling like adolescent boys in a farmyard. Tunics were torn and beards were tugged, and soon they found themselves laying side by side, out of breath from the exertion and their own inability to stop themselves from laughing.

Boromir sobered up first, positioning his arms under his head and releasing a contented sigh. He felt as if a world of weight had fallen off of his shoulders. He heard Gimli stop laughing and turned his head to watch the dwarf, his eyes twinkling. "I say we call this match a draw."

"I do not know," replied Gimli, a mischievous smirk flashing across his face. "That sounds too much like surrendering."

"No, no, it's not surrendering. It is…making a truce." Gimli cocked an eyebrow.

"What are the terms of this truce?" he asked. Boromir laughed.

"Must you make everything difficult?"

"Yes, actually, I take quite a joy in it."

"Fine. Terms of the truce…hmmm…we, for now, lay the question of 'is checkers silly or not' aside and I teach you how to actually play?" Boromir suggested.

"I could agree to that," said Gimli with a chuckle.

"Well, let's get to it." Boromir made to get up, but Gimli's voice stopped him.

"Wait! You are forgetting something very important. We must seal this truce." Boromir turned and looked to the dwarf, who had already stood. He smiled.

"Come hither then, Master Gimli," said Boromir, "and we shall seal it." Gimli trudged over to him, hand extended. Boromir grasped his hand warmly, using it as leverage to sit up and roll over to his knees. In a sudden movement that startled Gimli, Boromir let go of the dwarf's hand and instead clasped his face in his hands, and swiftly sealed his lips across Gimli's.

The kiss could not be labelled as brotherly, nor as a kiss between friends; the instant he felt Boromir's lips upon his he knew that this was far more than a kiss to insure trust.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this was love.


End file.
